Ice Queen
by Vampire Queen of NOLA
Summary: Seven hundred years after Klaus made Caroline his queen, the whole of New Orleans is shaken by an event that changes the city forever. This was a highly emotional piece to write, and I tried something different with my writing this time- feedback would be much loved and appreciated!


_… and thus, the kingdom knew darkness._

To make a single noise in their home was to risk the wrath of a woman whose heart had fallen into a frozen, frigid state. A lone queen, impassive and emotionless, standing as the solitary ruler of what had once been a prosperous and glorious city. Seven hundred years, and the city had been shaken to the core by a singular act. Not even a decade later, fear blanketed the whole of New Orleans, terror to the deepest pits of existence- she had once been their advocate, the peace-maker, the one who inspired love and loyalty with an astounding ease.

It had begun with treason, betrayal, and murder, a tale spun in scarlet ink spilled from _his_ chest. The flames that had engulfed the reigning hybrid king had ignited a similar inferno within the queen, consuming every ounce of empathy and sympathy she may have ever given. In the first three weeks, none had seen her, her brother by marriage stepping forward to take control of the city in her absence. To walk upstairs was a hazardous task, then- to open any doors aside from one's own was a surefire way for the vampire to appear as though from nowhere, her rage turned volatile and explosive.

When she stepped back into society was when everything changed, her first words called to the gathered loyalists shocking and unexpected.

"Kill every last witch in this city. If they run, you follow them. You find them. And you tear them limb from limb."

It had been the witches, a trick they should have long ago taken counter-measures against; to stop his heart dead in his chest, incapacitate and _destroy_ with a stake they should have never found. The _how_ no longer mattered. The _why_ never had. It was with deep sorrow in his heart that her brother-in-law watched her, enfolded in a silence that spoke of grieving- he grieved for his brother, and for the woman that had given the now-dead hybrid reason to cling to humanity and cherish life once more. She, too, was gone.

Neither he nor his sister chose to attempt to reach through the cold exterior of this newly arisen ice queen- they _knew_, and they also knew that if she turned back to the person she had once been, the torment and agony of the loss she carried with her would tear her apart entirely. All they could do was watch and support her however necessary, trading silent looks of the knowledge that the kingdom their family had once seen prosper was reaching its end. A new era had come upon New Orleans, and nothing would change that unless they took matters into their own hands.

Still, both lacked the heart to kill her, and so, it continued.

Her rule became militant in a way even their brother's never had, strict, suffocating every being that chose to reside in the city. Where parties and celebrations had once abounded and tourists had flocked to see the magic of the varied culture and art, it seemed that everyone had been cloaked in a dark veil, every color muted and tension a constant in the air. With time, the humans began to abandon the city for better prospects, and she did nothing. As their food source dwindled, so did her followers, her soldiers in mourning of what had once been. What was once golden was now tarnished, and around every corner was a reminder of all that had been lost.

For fifty years, she watched it all in silence, the slow dismantling of the kingdom under her control. After that, she became a specter in the place that could no longer rightly be called a home; it held memories, painful, sharp things that cut and tore with every breath, every step, every passing moment- she clearly cared nothing for those who left, finding the solitude forced upon her a mixture of both a mercy and a curse- the mercy, she never deserved. The curse, she brought upon herself. Why fight what was earned? Why rebel when suffering was all she knew?

Eventually, she was left alone. Even those bound to her through her marriage to the fallen king left, though they were not gone _forever_. How often they crept within the dark house was something that escaped her, but they did, and they left her with bagged blood that she only touched when it was absolutely necessary. Nearly a century after the death of her husband, she found herself walking the empty halls, her subconscious pulling her to a door that had not been touched since the day he was torn from her.

The art studio.

For that last year, she refused to leave. Curled in a chair, a sketchbook unopened in her lap, she responded only when her brother-in-law pressed blood bags into her hand, the man having taken residence in the house once more. Why, he was uncertain- the silence that never broke was disquieting, but something had changed, and he felt it was his duty to be near her.

Exactly one hundred years after the greatest king New Orleans had ever known had been murdered by extremist witches seeking to cleanse the earth of the abomination they saw him as, he heard her, calling for him. Her voice cracked from disuse and the dryness that had settled in her throat from lack of feeding, but it was _her_, and something in the queen's voice had him flashing to the room in a moment. What he found both stunned him and shattered his heart.

In her lap, the sketchbook was open, to a page depicting the queen as she once had been- bright, vibrant, loving, full of light. A single shaking hand traced each and every line, her face turned towards the page, and when she looked at him, there were tears in her eyes- _she_ was shaking, every inch of her body seeming ready to simply fall apart, and when she opened her mouth, her plea was half-choked by a sob. He knew then that she had let her emotions come back.

"H-he's never coming… back… M-make it sto-… _stop_, please, God, make it _stop_…"


End file.
